


The Stars Are Not So Brave

by iridiumring92



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Crownsguard!Noctis, M/M, Major Character Injury, Scars, but the ending is better i promise, prince!Ignis, so uh yeah there's some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-05 22:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11587554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridiumring92/pseuds/iridiumring92
Summary: He remembered when they’d first left the Citadel and the Crown City behind—weeks ago now. He’d felt queasy at the thought of Ignis fighting with the rest of them. The flawless Prince Ignis, with his smooth skin unmarred by scars and his impeccable wardrobe, shouldn’t have to find himself in such risky places as battlefields.Noctis tries to come to terms with the fact that he cannot protect his prince from everything, while they both struggle with the feelings they've been trying desperately not to acknowledge.





	The Stars Are Not So Brave

**Author's Note:**

> In which Ignis is the Crown Prince of Lucis, and Noctis is part of his Crownsguard.
> 
> Title inspiration from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SjLhw4syhr0) by Marika Hackman.

The sounds of battle faded, the last Magitek Trooper collapsed to the ground, and out of the corner of his eye, Noctis saw his charge fall to his knees.

Ignis, Crown Prince of Lucis, had his arms wrapped around his waist, his fingers digging into the dark fabric of his shirt. His face was pale, his lips parted. Noctis was on his feet again in a heartbeat, rushing to Ignis before the two others could even think about reacting.

“Your Highness. Are you okay?” Noctis asked, hoping, expecting a _Yes, I’m fine, just shaken_ as usual. But instead, Ignis exhaled a slow breath, unclenched his hands, and revealed the hilt of a knife protruding from his abdomen, the blood spreading from the wound and staining his shirt. Noctis bit back a gasp and then an oath. He’d been stabbed. He’d been _stabbed._

“Six, Ignis,” he breathed, forgetting for a moment to use the prince’s title. He slid an arm around Ignis’s shoulders, supporting him, and he focused anxiously on Ignis’s warmth. _He’s still here. He’s still breathing._ But his eyes started to flutter shut, and Noctis placed a hand on his cheek in an attempt to keep him conscious. “Hey. Look at me. Talk to me. What happened? Who did this to you?”

Ignis drew in a breath—but the effort seemed to pain him, and he shuddered. “One of the magitek assassins,” he breathed. “It threw the knife at me from a substantial distance—I couldn’t deflect it—”

“All right, shh. Don’t hurt yourself,” Noctis said.

Beside him, Prompto dropped down with an armful of potions and elixirs and whatever else he’d managed to find in their stash of provisions. “Healing supplies, Noct,” he said, spreading out the array of bottles in the grass.

“Thanks.”

Noctis eased Ignis down onto his back, enduring his prince’s quiet protests and moans of pain. Sometimes it was “No, wait,” as he paused to suck in a breath through his gritted teeth, and sometimes it was just “Noct,” slipping out like a secret. Noctis grimaced each time, wishing he could just wave his hand and alleviate the pain, but he knew it didn’t work like that, especially not with something this serious.

Gladio materialized on Ignis’s other side, sinking to one knee and examining the wound. “We’re gonna have to take out the blade,” he said, looking at the knife hilt, the blade still deeply embedded. “But we need to minimize blood loss. So Noct, have the medicine ready, and use it as soon as I get the weapon free. Iggy”—he put a hand on the prince’s shoulder, softly so as not to hurt him—“this might not feel too good. Brace yourself.”

“Be careful,” Noctis told Gladio.

“I’ll be right back,” Prompto said. Before he stood up, though, Noctis caught a glimpse of his face and saw that he was pale as death. He didn’t want to witness this. Noctis didn’t blame him.

Gladio bent half over Ignis to look at the blade and make sure he moved it at the right angle. Ignis reached out and took hold of Noctis’s hand, weaving their fingers together and squeezing hard.

Noctis’s eyes met his. There was so much pain in them, and so much fear. If he was honest with himself, Noctis was afraid for him, too. There was too much chance that this could go wrong, that they could lose Ignis forever, or that the healing could go badly and the wound could affect him for the rest of his life. Noctis didn’t want that weight on his shoulders. Nor did he want anyone to have inflicted permanent harm on Ignis. If the Empire did manage to get away with such a thing, well, Noctis would make sure they felt it.

He remembered when they’d first left the Citadel and the Crown City behind—weeks ago now. He’d felt queasy at the thought of Ignis fighting with the rest of them. The flawless Prince Ignis, with his smooth skin unmarred by scars and his impeccable wardrobe, shouldn’t have to find himself in such risky places as battlefields. Noctis had said as much.

“I’ve trained for this,” Ignis had said to him, in his low, sweet, accented voice. “I’ll be all right. The Crown City is as dangerous, in any case.”

Now, Noctis recalled those words and swallowed hard. _Please be all right,_ he prays silently.

Gladio paused at the sight of Ignis holding Noctis’s hand, but he didn’t comment. “Noct, on my mark. Ready . . .”

He pulled the blade free, causing Ignis to gasp in pain. Noctis broke open an elixir, splashing the medicinal liquid into the wound and on Ignis’s skin. Ignis’s grip tightened on Noctis’s hand until Noctis thought he might break a bone. After a moment, steadily, he relaxed, his breaths evening out, the tension leaving his muscles.

“Better?” Gladio asked.

“Much,” Ignis said, the word barely more than a sigh.

“You’re still probably gonna need a healer,” Gladio told him. “You mind if I take a look?”

Ignis inhaled deeply through his nose. “Go ahead,” he said finally. The words came out in a rush.

Noctis tried to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. Gladio peeled back the bloody hem of Ignis’s shirt unceremoniously, exposing the flat pane of his stomach. Noctis tried not to let his eyes wander, but they did anyway: to the layer of muscle there, the curve of his hip disappearing past his belt, and—and the _blood._ The area around the stab wound was still wet with blood, and the wound wasn’t completely closed.

Gladio noticed this, too, and his brows knitted at the sight. He swore under his breath, and then added, “Stitches.”

“What was that?” Ignis asked, though his voice wavered a little.

“You need stitches, or it’s not going to heal right no matter how many elixirs we have. We should find a medic.” Gladio rose to his feet. “I’ll go bring Prompto back. Noct, if you’d help him get to the car . . .”

“Yeah, sure.”

Gladio turned his back on them both. Noctis looked behind him, but Prompto had already disappeared from sight. He knew it might be a while before either of them returned.

He turned back to Ignis, whose fingers were still threaded between his. His eyes were closed, but Noctis could see from where he sat that he was breathing, thank the gods. He extracted his hand from Ignis’s and rested it on his shoulder, rubbing his thumb in circles over the fabric of his shirt.

“Noct,” Ignis whispered, voice barely louder than the sounds of the wind and the road. “ _Please._ ”

Noctis pressed his lips together and took his hand back. He didn’t have to ask to know what Ignis meant. They’d had this conversation numerous times since those nights back in Insomnia: nights of slipping away from the crowds in the Citadel, of shadows and whispered secrets. One night in particular, on which Noctis had tasted Ignis’s lips, sweet with wine, and Ignis had taken Noctis into his arms without reservation. He remembered it all in fragments now—the heat of their bare skin, the way his heart had raced, the silk sheets. He still blushed when he thought about it.

But the conversation that they’d had in the morning—and many days after—kept coming back to haunt him, somehow. _Noct, this isn’t right. We can’t keep doing this. You are part of my Crownsguard, not my paramour. It’s improper._ And of course, _It’s not your fault, it’s nothing you did. You’re beautiful, Noct, and I admire you._ Maybe it was those words that hurt the most.

“We should go to the car,” Noctis said, trying to divert his thoughts. “Can—can you sit up? It might still hurt.”

“I’ll be all right.”

But Noctis offered him a hand anyway, and he took it, rising first into a sitting position and then to his feet with only a small grunt of pain. He tucked in his shirt and began to walk to the car, while Noctis hung back a moment to collect their remaining healing supplies before following.

The others returned soon enough to keep Noctis and Ignis from having to fill the silence with conversation, and they set off on the road not long after that, the air between them eerily silent. Noctis drove, and Gladio directed him to a parking space. When he wasn’t navigating, Noctis could hear him speaking in a low voice to Ignis, telling him to keep still so as not to aggravate the wound, to put pressure on it if it started to bleed. Ignis didn’t say much. In the rearview mirror, Noctis could see him glancing nervously out at the landscape.

Noctis parked the car where Gladio instructed him to, and the four of them got out to walk to the healer’s place, hidden in an outpost among several unassuming buildings. Ignis kept one arm braced around his waist. Gladio had a hand on his shoulder, no doubt to make sure he stayed upright, and the sight made jealousy flare in Noctis’s chest, not at all lessened by Ignis’s recent rejection of him. He pushed his emotions down and turned to follow the others to where the healer worked.

The healer, a woman with a young, innocent face and light hair, assessed the situation and said she’d examine Ignis’s wound. She asked no questions, though Noctis saw her eyes trace their black clothing with a hint of recognition. As she turned to guide their prince to one of the rooms in the back, Noctis stepped forward.

“Your Highness, let me go with you,” he said. He hated the way his voice sounded, speaking those words: as if he were tripping over crutches.

Ignis shook his head slightly. “I’ll be all right,” he said quietly, for the second time.

Noctis sat in a corner of the front room while Gladio held down a seat by the door and Prompto wandered around looking at the pictures and the furniture. He couldn’t understand Prompto’s interest in everything. He wanted to be with Ignis.

“Hey, Noct.” Gladio’s voice interrupted his thoughts and caused even Prompto to turn from the framed photograph he’d been staring at. “Having a staring contest with the floor?”

“Shut up.”

“You know, you should watch your attitude,” Gladio said, a little more mildly than the remark deserved. “Your prince was just stabbed, and meanwhile, it’s your job to keep him safe.”

“And yours,” Noctis shot back with venom. He didn’t know which he was even referring to exactly: _your_ attitude, _your_ prince, _your_ job. Maybe all of the above.

“Noct,” Prompto interrupted. “I agree with him. We should try to stay positive. For Ignis.”

 _For Ignis._ Noctis dropped his head into his hands and closed his eyes. He couldn’t refuse to do something for their prince’s sake—it was his job. But he could feel anger smoldering in his veins, the flames burning low, hungry for fuel. He was appalled that he could let something like this happen to Ignis in the first place, and Ignis’s refusal of _him_ still stung. He had no idea what was going on in the next room.

After a moment, Prompto gave up and dropped into the chair next to Gladio, and Noctis heard them whispering. He half wanted to storm over and demand to know what they were talking about, but he was too exhausted. He didn’t even lift his head.

The relative silence was broken when the medic emerged. Noctis finally looked up, and Prompto and Gladio fell silent.

She met his eyes, a little concerned, a little nervous, and bowed her head. “Noctis, right?” she asked. He nodded. She cast the other two an apologetic glance and said in a quiet voice, “He asked for you.”

For a moment, Noctis didn’t know how to respond.

“Me?” he finally said. “Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“Okay.” Rising to his feet, Noctis followed the healer toward the next room with its door slightly ajar. He could feel Prompto’s and Gladio’s eyes at his back, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t know what this was about. He doubted it had anything to do with their conversation earlier, but . . . why just him and not the others? He didn’t want his expression to betray what he was feeling.

The healer opened the door to the room, which was small with pale walls and a low medical cot layered in white sheets. A curtain rod stretched out across the room, but the curtain was pushed all the way off to the side, against the wall. Ignis lay on his back with his eyes closed. The healer offered Noctis her chair, and he lowered himself into it, feeling light-headed. She disappeared through the door.

“Noct,” Ignis murmured.

“You awake, or were you just talking about me in your sleep?” Noctis teased, trying to keep his tone light.

The smallest of smiles formed on Ignis’s lips. “Of course I’m awake,” he said, opening his eyes and turning his head to look at Noctis. “You really think the Prince of Lucis would talk in his sleep?”

“I mean, you do wear glasses.” Noctis brushed the backs of his fingers against Ignis’s cheek. Once when they were younger, the two of them, hiding in the Citadel so that a passing group of courtiers wouldn’t see them, had overheard a conversation about that very thing. _I cannot believe the prince chooses to wear glasses,_ one of them had said, and the others chimed in. _Indeed, it is a show of weakness. He should never have started. If he hadn’t, he could fool everyone into believing he had perfect eyesight, with no one the wiser. True, and it would do much for his looks._

When they turned the corner, Ignis had looked after them, his face bright red. The truth was that the prince could barely see without his glasses, and that he’d had to wear them since a very young age. No choice had been involved. Noctis had put an arm around his shoulders and suggested they go somewhere else.

Later, sitting outside in the courtyard, Noctis had convinced Ignis to vent his anger about the situation. He cursed the nobles and kicked a tree. Noctis told him that he looked good in glasses. Eventually, he calmed down.

Noctis was certain that Ignis was recalling this same situation as his eyes drifted to the ceiling, a faraway look in them. “Yes, that’s true,” he said finally. “I make no claims to perfection. But I was fully conscious, I assure you.”

“Um, why _did_ you ask for me?” Noctis licked his lips, uncertain.

“Because I wanted to apologize for earlier.” Ignis’s voice dropped, and he averted his eyes. He took a breath as if to continue, but Noctis spoke first, cutting him off.

“Maybe now isn’t a good time,” he said. “We could talk about this when we’re . . . you know . . . when we have more privacy.”

Ignis shook his head. “Noct, I’ve pushed you away too many times. Including earlier. You were just trying to help me feel better, and I wouldn’t let you.”

 _No,_ Noctis wanted to shout. _That’s not it, Ignis. I’m in love with you. I have been since even before the night you took me to your bed. Since we were younger. Since we overheard those nobles saying you’d look better without glasses and I realized I thought you were attractive in them and I wanted to kiss you until you felt better. But you pushed me away and you were_ right _._

“I am so sorry, Noct.”

 _We can’t be together,_ Noctis thought. _I know. You’re the prince, and I’m no one. If anyone knew I’d slept with you, they’d curse me, shame me, lock me up._

He stood up, steeling himself so that none of those emotions showed. “Well, your apology’s accepted,” he said coldly. “It’s okay. It’s fine. I’ll just—” He gestured at the door. He didn’t miss the look of undisguised distress that flashed across Ignis’s face. His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, but he remained silent. Noctis wanted, more than anything, to kiss those lips, to take away the need for words.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, his voice emerging more impassive than concerned. “Does your . . . does the wound feel any better?”

Just like that, the last vestiges of emotion vanished from Ignis’s face. “No, I don’t need anything. I feel much better, thank you, Noct.”

 _This is how it should be,_ Noctis told himself. He didn’t believe a word as he walked out of the room.

“What did Iggy want?” Gladio asked when Noctis returned to him, Prompto, and the medic, who waited in the clinic’s main room. They all looked just a bit nervous. Noctis felt the same, but he reminded himself to feel nothing before he answered.

“He tried to apologize, true to form,” he said with a shrug. “But it’s not his fault.”

“You three should take good care of him,” the healer said carefully. Noctis wondered if she had heard their conversation, or if she knew Ignis was the prince.

“Oh, we will. For sure,” Prompto assured her. “Is he okay to leave? Does he need a little while longer?”

“Ask him yourself,” Noctis answered. “He seemed a little tired, but I’m guessing he won’t want to stay. He’ll think he’s holding us back.”

“Whatever he wants,” the healer affirmed with a nod. “He should be all right. But if he doesn’t feel quite well enough to travel, you’re all welcome to remain here. Some people cope with injuries better than others, after all.”

Noctis half wondered if the same applied to broken hearts, but shoved the thought away as soon as it entered his head. _Fool. Idiot. You’re better off without him._ He still didn’t believe it.

“Noct?” Prompto said. “You wanna bring him back?”

He shrugged. “If you want me to.”

“Well, you’re the one he wanted to talk to earlier. I think you should go,” Prompto answered.

 _Don’t tempt me,_ Noctis almost said. “Okay,” he agreed instead and turned back to the room where he’d left Ignis. He pushed the door open and left it that way, leaning in and keeping his feet on the threshold. “Your Highness—do you want to stay, or should we move on?”

Ignis sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Noct,” he said quietly, “I told you, you don’t have to call me—” At the look on Noctis’s face, he broke off, casting his eyes downward. “We should move on, if you’re all right with that. I’d rather not spend too much time here while the empire is still after us.”

“Of course,” Noctis said. He offered Ignis a hand, and Ignis took it, rising to his feet. He met Noctis’s eyes carefully, his eyes asking silent questions that Noctis didn’t deign to answer. Noctis followed him out of the room to where the others waited for them.

“Hey,” Gladio said, clapping Ignis on the shoulder a little more lightly than he normally would have. “Don’t do that to us again, okay? You could’ve died.”

“I know.” Ignis sighed. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

“ _We’ll_ be more careful,” Noctis corrected. “We’re his Crownsguard, for the gods’ sake. We’re the ones who fucked up.”

“ _Noct_ ,” Prompto said, his face wide open with shock.

“You said it yourselves,” Noctis said, his words taking on more speed and weight as he spoke. “It’s our job to protect him. And we didn’t do it, so that puts us at fault. Ignis— _His Highness_ is blameless.”

Ignis stepped closer to him, touched his elbow. “I am equally at fault, Noctis. Please, calm down. It’s not worth fighting over.”

“Don’t touch me,” Noctis snapped, swinging a hand out so suddenly that Ignis had to take a quick step back in order not to be hit. He raised his hands in surrender as Noctis raged. “You go through all this to make sure I distance myself from you, and then you touch me again like it’s nothing. Don’t _do_ that.” Noctis pressed his hands to his forehead, and his voice dropped. “It just _hurts_ now.”

Prompto and Gladio were looking at him like he was crazy. Like they were trying to piece together what had happened. Ignis, on the other hand, had a soft look in his eyes, like he wanted to apologize again. Noctis didn’t want him to. He didn’t want Prompto or Gladio to figure it out, either, so he stormed out of the clinic before anyone could say a word.

He reached the car and rested a hand on the door, closing his eyes and silently cursing himself for getting emotional. _It’s not unexpected,_ a voice in his head said. _Your prince’s life was just threatened._ But he wished he could take back the words he’d said.

“Noct?”

He whirled around to see Ignis standing several feet away, his hands held out in front of him as if to communicate that he meant no harm. Noctis didn’t want to see him. Seeing him meant that familiar surge of his heartbeat, the longing that strained every nerve in his body, the rushes of memory from their single shared night. It meant denying both himself and his prince. He hated it.

“Ignis, please.” He shook his head. “Just leave me alone. I can’t do this.”

“We need to talk,” Ignis insisted. “About what happened that night.”

“Not now,” Noctis said.

Ignis took a cautious step closer. “The others are talking with our medic,” he said, dropping his voice. “They’ll have to explain why we . . . left. And compensate her, of course.”

“If she hasn’t figured out that you’re the crown prince.”

“They’ll have even more explaining to do if that’s the case,” Ignis said. “Noct, look, I—”

“I know, Ignis. I’ve heard it all before. You don’t have to remind me that you don’t want me.” Noctis turned his back on him, beginning to circle the car. “We should leave.”

Ignis fell silent as Noctis opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel. After several heartbeats, he said, “I do want you, Noct.” He received no response, and more urgently, he repeated, “ _Noct._ ”

The door to the clinic opened, and Prompto and Gladio stepped out, walking toward the car at a brisk pace. They left Noctis and Ignis no room to finish their conversation. “You ready to go, Your Highness?” Gladio asked, placing a hand on Ignis’s shoulder as he passed by.

“Yes, of course,” Ignis said, with much less anxiety than his voice had held just moments before. He took his usual spot in the seat behind Noctis, and not long after that, they were out on the road.

They drove in silence for a long while before stopping at a safe haven for the night, with its wards and shadows and open sky. Gladio and Prompto made sure their prince was comfortable, but Noctis stayed away from all of them, checking the fuel in the car, organizing and reorganizing supplies, sharpening his weapon. The air between him and Ignis was still tense, and he didn’t want to disturb it.

But as the night began to wear on, Gladio approached Noctis, clapping him on the shoulder by way of greeting. “Hey. You guys all right?” he asked, gesturing at Ignis, who was sitting in a chair with his arms crossed and talking with Prompto.

Noctis shrugged. “Don’t know.” They weren’t, in fact, but he didn’t feel like confronting the issue. What would he tell Gladio? That the problem at hand involved their prince and Noctis in a bedroom together with the door locked? He could already see Gladio bracing a hand over his forehead and sighing. _Didn’t need to know that, thanks, Noct,_ he’d say. It wasn’t worth it.

“I don’t like seeing you two fight. It’s not good for him, anyway, not when he’s injured,” Gladio continued. “So if you can fix this, Noct, I suggest you do it. And if you wanna talk to him tonight, I’ll even leave you two alone.”

 _That sounds dangerous._ So he hadn’t figured it out. Noctis _really_ had no intention of telling him. “Yeah, fine. I got it. I’ll talk to him.”

“Good.” Gladio nodded and turned away.

Not long after, he said something about crashing for the night and disappeared into their tent. Prompto took the hint and followed. Noctis found himself alone in the deep night with Ignis, and he wanted nothing more than to run away.

But he heard a voice at his back, and the accent it carried, the softness, made him want to weep. “Noct?”

“Yeah?”

“Come here, please, if you would. I want to talk to you.”

Noctis didn’t argue this time. He obeyed, crossing to Ignis’s chair and standing in front of him. Ignis stretched out a hand, and Noctis pulled him to his feet.

“I don’t want you to think I found that night to be a mistake,” Ignis said softly, looking down at him slightly. He stood close enough that Noctis could feel his warmth against the cool night. “Or any of it. I feel far too much for you, and I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want them to use you against me, and I didn’t want you to have to step down if we were found out. I couldn’t— _can’t_ —lose you.”

Noctis’s chest felt tight. He couldn’t breathe. The image of Ignis lying in the grass, his face drawn with pain and blood staining his shirt, flashed behind his eyes. _I can’t lose you either._ He couldn’t draw breath to say the words.

“Your wound,” he said, after a long pause. “How is it?”

Ignis looked down, one hand hovering over the place where the knife had pierced his skin. “It’ll scar.”

Scar. _Scar._ Noctis couldn’t bear the thought of his prince sustaining scars. That was what the rest of them were for. “Let me see,” he murmured, beginning to undo the buttons on Ignis’s shirt.

Slowly the fabric fell away, revealing planes of pale skin and a dark scar the width of a blade. Noctis closed his eyes, but even then, the sight of the scar remained. The single blemish on his creamy skin. Noctis placed his hands on Ignis’s hips and felt him shiver, and before Ignis could say anything, he leaned down and pressed his lips to the edge of the scar, soft, gentle.

Ignis took his hand again and drew him up. His hands cupped Noctis’s jaw, pulling him in for a deep kiss, his lips moving and pushing against Noctis’s. Noctis couldn’t keep his hands from roaming every inch of Ignis’s exposed skin that he could find. His hands searched for the paths they had once followed, on a night several months ago. A low moan slipped past Ignis’s lips, and a moment later, he stepped away, his bare skin illuminated by firelight and moonlight.

Noctis tried to steady his breathing. _Don’t say you’re leaving me again,_ he almost begged. But instead he met Ignis’s eyes, tried to figure out what must be going on in his head.

“If they weren’t here,” Ignis said in a light, breathless voice, “and if we were back in the Crown City, I’d ask you to stay the night.” He swallowed. “I need you, Noctis. I always need you.”

Noctis felt as if his very blood had caught fire. “I need you, too. But you know that.” He took a hesitant step closer. “We could stay out here, Ignis. If we’re quiet.”

Ignis shook his head. “No. After what I said to you last time . . . You deserve better than this from me, Noctis. Next time . . . we’ll have a bed, and a door that locks.”

“Looking forward to it,” Noctis said, smiling. He threaded his arms around Ignis’s neck, and the two of them fell into another long series of kisses.

The embers of the fire burned down, and the camp was lit mostly by moonlight when a figure stepped out of the tent, announcing his presence only with an accidental “Oh,” at the sight of Noctis and Ignis entangled together. The two of them backed off, and Noctis stumbled into a chair that had been left out, sitting down hard and squinting through the darkness to see who it was. Prompto.

“Sorry, uh . . . Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said. “I was just, you know, making sure you guys didn’t get abducted by the empire or something.”

“Of course,” Ignis said, attempting to regain his composure, even though Noctis could see him blushing in the low light. “Thank you for your concern. But we’re fine.”

Prompto cleared his throat. “Yeah. Um, I think you guys should probably get some sleep. I mean, actual sleep. Not, uh. You know.” Noctis didn’t even want to know what had gone through his head at the sight of Prince Ignis standing there shirtless and Noctis bound up in his arms. “We’re probably going to be doing a lot of driving tomorrow to make up for the time we lost today, so, uh, yeah. Sleep.” He pointed one finger into the air and spun around to return to the tent.

“I feel the need to apologize to him,” Ignis said quietly, staring in the direction in which Prompto had disappeared. After a moment, he reached self-consciously for his shirt and began to pull it back on, fastening each of the buttons with practiced ease.

“Tomorrow morning’s a good time for that,” Noctis replied, kissing him lightly on the corner of his mouth. “Right now’s a good time for sleep.”

“Yes.” Ignis returned the kiss, his lips pressing fully against Noctis’s. “Noct, I will do whatever I can in the future, but . . . I don’t know if we’ll always be able to stay like this. And for that I am sorry. I just want you to know that no matter what happens, I haven’t stopped wanting you. I will never stop—”

And with that, Noctis leaned in and brushed his lips softly against Ignis’s cheeks, first the right and then the left, where tears had begun to draw tracks down his face. “I love you,” he whispered.

“Noct—”

“It’s okay,” Noctis said. “You don’t have to say it back.” His hands slid over Ignis’s shoulders, then his arms. “I understand.”

“No,” Ignis murmured, his voice rough. “I’ve loved you since we were young, Noctis. And I love you now.” His voice broke, and he shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”

Had he said this hours before, Noctis would have wanted to tell him that he had a lot to be sorry for. But he could see things from his prince’s perspective now. Falling in love with someone he’d been told was beneath him, hiding those feelings, trying to push him away because he thought it would keep them both from getting hurt and instead just making everything worse . . . He couldn’t cause his prince any more pain.

“It’s not your fault,” Noctis said. He slipped his arms around Ignis, pulling him closer, and Ignis held onto him as if he were a lifeline. He wanted to stay within Ignis’s warmth forever. “We should go to bed.”

“Indeed,” Ignis said, though he was still wiping his eyes, nudging his glasses out of balance. “Hopefully things will look better in the morning.” Noctis murmured his agreement.

A while later, the two of them slept soundly side by side, entwined in each other’s warmth, for the first time since that night.

**Author's Note:**

> This was really strange to write, because of its nature as a role-reversal AU . . . but creating some new back stories for these two was actually really fulfilling.
> 
> Here's my [tumblr](https://iridiumring92.tumblr.com/) if you feel like saying hi :)


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